Chapter 4 A Hunger She Cannot Kill
The city bent to her silence, but silence was no companion.
Seraphina sat in the hollow remains of the orphanage chapel, the wooden pews half-rotted, the crucifix crooked and splintered. Candles flickered in the dark, their light weak against the weight of night. She had ordered men executed with a single gesture, torn syndicates apart with threads of information, and turned hardened killers into weeping dogs at her feet. And yet, here, in this silence, the victory tasted bitter.
Because when the candles burned low, there was no one beside her.
No father’s hand resting on her shoulder. No mother’s voice whispering lullabies. No sibling’s laughter echoing in the ruined hall.
Only the echoes of a life she had never truly lived.
---
The Hollow in Her chest
Seraphina hated herself for it.
Hatred was easier than grief, it burned cleaner, steadier. But the longing never left. It pulsed inside her chest, a hunger no amount of blood could feed. She had built an empire from shadows, crafted power out of fear, and still, at the end of each night, she was a child again, curled in the dark, waiting for parents who never came.
The Phantom Queen was feared, yes. But the girl inside her, "Seraphina", the abandoned daughter, ached for someone to say her name like it mattered.
And sometimes, when she let her guard down, she would imagine it. A family that welcomed her. A home not filled with broken wood and dust, but warmth. A place where her hands, trained to kill, could rest.
But always, the image shattered. Because in her world, longing was dangerous. Longing could kill.
---
The only place where her mask cracked was here, among the children.
She never let them know who she was, never revealed the shadow that ruled the streets. To them, she was only the lady who brought food and toys, a nameless benefactor who appeared from the dark with gifts no one else would give.
The nuns whispered that she was a saint, though fear tinged their voices. The older children said she was an angel. The younger ones, too innocent to know better, simply called her mama phantom.
Seraphina would sit in the corner, cloaked and faceless, watching them play with the dolls or eat the meals she provided. She told herself it was a strategy, a way to keep them fed so they might one day serve her empire. But in the stillness of her heart, she knew the truth.
She came because, for a fleeting moment, she could pretend. Pretend that she belonged to someone. Pretend that laughter could echo for her too. Pretend that the hollow inside her chest might one day be filled.
---
That night, as the children sang a broken hymn in their soft voices, Seraphina’s hand trembled where it rested against the pew.
This was her greatest weakness.
Enemies could not touch her in battle. They could not outmatch her mind. But if anyone ever discovered this... this secret hunger for family, this fragile thread of hope she kept hidden, then they would know how to break her.
She pressed her palm flat against her chest, feeling the ache there.
I cannot afford this, she told herself. I cannot afford to want.
And yet, I want her to.
---
That night, when she returned to her safe place, sleep betrayed her.
In her dream, she was a little girl again, running through a garden she had never seen, sunlight warm against her skin. Her laughter rang free, and when she turned, two figures waited at the end of the path. A man with eyes like her own. A woman with her hands open, ready to hold her.
Her parents.
Her heart thundered with joy as she ran to them. They knelt to catch her. She felt the strength of arms around her, the warmth of belonging she had never known.
“Seraphina,” her mother whispered. “You are ours. You were never forgotten.”
And for a moment, the dream felt real.
But when she woke, the orphanage walls pressed in, cold and cracked. Her pillow was damp with tears she would never admit to shedding.
The hunger returned, sharper than ever.
---
Seraphina rose, crossing to the mirror nailed crooked against the wall. A scarred reflection stared back at her, eyes like shards of obsidian, lips pressed into a cruel line.
“This is who you are,” she whispered to herself. “A ghost. A weapon. A queen without a face. My family has no place here.”
Her voice was steady, but her heart betrayed her.
Because deep inside, a voice she could not kill whispered back...
But what if, one day, family finds you?
---
And somewhere, as the city slept, that whisper carried farther than she knew.
Because destiny had already shifted.
The parents she thought lost forever had begun to search.
Their eyes had turned toward the city.
And soon, the ghost who ruled from shadows would no longer be unseen.
Soon, Seraphina’s longing would lead her straight into betrayal.
But for now, she stood alone, the hunger for family gnawing at her bones, the phantom queen shackled by the one thing she could never kill...
Hope.
